Minute by Minute
by Andrea13
Summary: With their parents gone, Nathan and Sean Dayspring are left to survive in the middle of a world at war. They can either be swept away or learn to control the current. Second in the Times' Change trilogy.
1. Chapter One

This is the second story in the Times' Change trilogy, which started with "A Second More".  In ASM, an injured Prince Stryfe is taken away from the palace by Redd and Slym Dayspring after they defeated Apocalypse and raised as their son, Sean.  Now with their parents gone, Nathan and Sean are left to survive in the middle of a world at war.  They can either be swept away or learn to control the current...

I'd like to thank Persephone Kore, Mitai, and Timesprite for all their valuable help in beta reading and just general encouragement.  I couldn't have done it without you! *hugs*  Feedback is worshipped and adored at ra_1013@yahoo.com.

MINUTE BY MINUTE 

By Andrea

            *_We're going to put it back together again._*

            Nathan Dayspring thought back over his arrogant words with a mental snort.  He'd been overwhelmed with losing his parents suddenly and was grasping desperately at *anything* to keep himself calm and focused.  Restoring the dream Apocalypse had taken apart seemed as good a goal as any.

            Of course, he'd been young then.  Barely thirteen.  Now looking back from the mature vantage point of fifteen, Nate had to shake his head a little at the rash vow.  

            "Hey, keep your eyes on where we're going!"

            Nate blinked a little, then grinned at the voice that pulled him out of his reverie.  "But it's nothing but dust, dust, and more dust.  Why bother looking at it?"

            "So you don't step on my feet, maybe?" Sean suggested with an irreverent grin.

            "But that's not as much fun!"

"You're not here to have FUN, so shut your mouths and keep walking!" a harsh voice snarled at them both.  "We're almost to camp.  A couple of scrawny conscripts is better than none, I guess."  The man kicked at the dirt and stalked off, leaving the other men in the troop to keep an eye on the new recruits.  Sean and Nate exchanged glances and rolled their eyes in unison.

#This group is even more annoying than the *last* one,# Sean sent in exasperation.

#Just smile and nod and play along,# Nate repeated patiently.  #We'll get to their camp, wait until night, and THEN escape.  With supplies.  It'll be worth it.#

#Yeah, yeah.  I still don't like it, Nate.#

#We need the supplies, AND it's better to be a couple of conscripts who deserted than ones who beat or killed a whole patrol.  They'd be looking for us then.#

And besides, the plan had worked well enough the *last* three times they'd been unable to avoid the patrols of soldiers who combed the area, "recruiting" anyone who could hold a weapon to fight in the latest wars between the different Canaanite generals.  The wars had been going on since Apocalypse had died and his Heir disappeared, and didn't look to stop any time soon.

#I still don't like it,# Sean repeated.  #Skulking around like this when we should just fight and be done with it.  And how are we supposed to *help* anybody like this?#

#If we die because we don't have supplies, or because one of these generals sends the whole army after us, we won't do *anyone* much good.  We have to figure out *how* to help people first, instead of just jumping into everything.  ...Slym taught me that.#

#I miss him.#  The words were very soft.  A slight pause, then louder, #But that's all we've *been* doing for two years, Nate!  We have to start SOMETIME.#

#...Soon.  I promise.#

Sean almost groaned. #Oath, Nate, don't try to make it sound like I'm a toddler whining about when we're going to stop walking or eat.  I'm *serious*.  If we're ever going to accomplish our mission, we need to get started.#

#We WILL!  But charging around without any kind of a plan won't help.#

#It would be doing *something*.#

With a sigh, Nate pulled out the old argument.  #We could go to the Askani--#

#No!  I just don't trust them, Nate.  Remember how they wanted to *use* you?  They don't even think...I'm real.#

#Redd and Slym trusted them.#

#I'm a SCIENCE EXPERIMENT to them, Nate!#  Sean blew out an irritated breath.  #Redd and Slym only trusted them as far as they had to.  I don't want to go to them as long as we have another choice.  We'll do this your way this time, but after we get out of here, we need to start thinking about what we're actually going to DO.  I...have a lot to make up for.#

Nate met his twin's eyes for a long moment, saw the fierce determination there, and nodded his agreement before looking away.  They BOTH had a lot to do.

*****

#"Just a little camp.  We'll be in and out in no time."  I *told* you this wasn't a good idea, Nate!#

#...Okay, so it's a *little* bigger than any of the other camps.#

#A *LITTLE*?!#

#Okay, a lot!  But I *checked* their thoughts.  They were supposed to be taking us to a secondary camp.#

#And what if this IS their secondary camp, Nathan?#

#...Then this might be slightly harder than we thought.#

#You are SO good at stating the obvious.#

#Just relax!  We'll have to be a little more careful than usual, but we can still pull it off.#

#I don't *like* this,# Sean grumbled again as he looked out over the camp.  Compared to the other camps they'd pulled their trick at, this one was not only large, but well-organized and orderly.  The visible soldiers were going about their duties efficiently, with those at rest relaxing or playing idle games of chance quietly.  The tents and equipment were relatively clean and in good repair.

All in all, it bespoke an organized army, more like the units Sean was used to from his time as Prince than the rabble disguised as soldiers that was more common these days.  And with all the fighting going on all around them, that meant a strong commander.  And a good one.

Sean *really* didn't like the way all this was adding up.

Lost in thought, he almost didn't see the soldier until it was too late.  The man was striding along as if he owned the camp, and from the high rank bars on his collar, that might well be the case.  Probably not THE commander, but certainly one of his top lieutenants.  As if THAT wasn't enough reason to avoid him-- #*Vande*!  Flonq!#

#Huh?# Nate repeated intelligently.

#Just keep your head down,# Sean hissed.  

#Okay...#  Nate looked around curiously through the corners of his eyes, and saw a high-ranking soldier sweep right past them.  #Is that who you're upset about?#

#I'm not upset; I just don't want him to see me!  That's Vande.  *Lord* Vande.  A courtier.  Or an ex-courtier, I guess.#

#Ohhhh.  He knew you?#

#Well enough to recognize me.  And he didn't like me.  Well, no one at Court did, really.#

Nate patted his twin's mind reassuringly.  #*I* like you.  And you're lots nicer now.#

Sean curled up a little in Nate's mind.  #Thanks.  But that doesn't mean I want Vande to recognize me.  Even more reason NOT to want it.  I...I don't want some courtier to decide I'm a good way to claim the throne.#

And having the former prince (and only legitimate heir to Apocalypse, even if Stryfe hadn't been his *real* son after all) would probably be the only way to get some of the factions to band together.  He was legally an adult, but only barely so, which meant a courtier supporting him would probably think he could be easily controlled.

He *wouldn't* be, especially not with Nate beside him, but THEY didn't know that, and Sean didn't feel like tempting fate.  The sooner they got out of here, the better.

Nate could sense his twin's anxiety, so he kept a light mental hand on Sean's mind while they were handed over to the conscript trainer.  In a contrast to their usual act, Sean kept his head down and restricted his replies to mumbled "Yessirs" and "Nossirs".  Nate stepped into the gap, keeping the attention focused on himself instead.

They had a lot of experience by now in acting cowed, scared but willing to fight for the army who'd captured them.  They didn't stand out from any other recruits who'd been brought in, except for perhaps their youth and Nate's disease.  At any rate, they didn't stand out enough to warrant anything beyond the usual precautions given to recent conscripts when they were assigned their sleeping arrangements that night.

Precautions not nearly sufficient to deter two of the planet's most powerful psis.

#I told you there wouldn't be any problems,# Nate sent along the link, a communication so private no nearby telepaths would be able to detect it even if they were trying to.

#You can say 'I told you so' *after* we get out of here,# Sean retorted, shoving supplies into his carrysack while keeping a nervous eye on their surroundings.

#It's not paranoid if you're -- oh FLONQ!#

#Don't panic.#  Nate wasn't sure if he was telling his twin or himself, the words coming out as a mental squeak.  The entire flonqing *camp* was rousing.  #What tipped them off?#

#I don't know.  Let's just get OUT of here!#

The boys swung their bags over their shoulders, abandoned any hope of more supplies, and started for the nearest perimeter in a flat-out run.  Nate had grown up a subversive and in hiding, so he knew how to obscure their trail and confuse trackers until ten trackers would swear they'd gone in ten different directions, but that always assumed at least a bit of a head start.  Essentially surrounded, there wasn't much his obfuscation skills could do.

#I guess *you're* the one who can say "I told you so",# Nate sent softly as they were surrounded.  

#I take it back!#

Nate almost smiled, then gulped and said bravely, #So we do this the hard way.  We can do it.#

#Yeah...#  Sean braced himself for battle as he watched the troops grow closer, but he kept sneaking sideways looks over at his twin.  Nate had his fists clenched, his eye glowing brightly, but he looked pale.  Scared, for the first time Sean could remember since Slym and Redd had disappeared.

They were strong, good fighters and powerful psis.  But they were also fifteen, and Nate's powers were dampened by the T-O virus.  They *might* be able to take down enough soldiers to escape, but...they might not.  All it took was one lucky hit and...

Sean's eyes locked on Nate.  He was NOT going to lose his twin.  He could handle Apocalypse trying to kill him.  He could handle Slym and Redd disappearing into thin air.  He could handle being on the run and constantly in danger.  But he *COULD NOT* lose Nate.

No matter what.

#No matter what happens, just play along,# he hissed to his twin, feeling Nate's rush of astonishment as he stepped forward and dropped out of fighting position, assuming a languid pose instead.  "Not bad.  Maybe this wasn't a *complete* waste of time, after all."

#What are you *doing*?#

A question that seemed to be echoed by the nearest soldiers, who were giving him a VERY odd look and seemed to be trying to decide if they should shoot him or not.

"I want to speak to your commander," Sean said in his most arrogant voice.

"Why?  Trying to give me a reason not to have you executed on the spot, you little thief?"

"Don't call me a common thief."  Sean leaned back and crossed his arms, fixing the commander with a steely gaze.  "I was testing your security to see if I should even bother speaking to you.  Most people can't manage to even detect us, much less catch us.  I suppose you're not a *total* failure."

#Um, Sean?  I don't think this is *helping*...# Nate observed nervously, eyeing the surrounding soldiers.  A few of the lower-ranking ones looked confused, but most of them looked angry.  

#I had to say *something*!#

#I don't think insulting them was the best idea!#

#I'm still working on it, okay?#

"Your arrogance is almost amusing, thief.  But I'll take your critique of our security into consideration after your execution."

Sean glanced over at Nate again, then took a deep breath.  "You won't touch me.  I am Prince Stryfe, the heir of Lord Apocalypse!"

#WHAT are you DOING?!  Are you NUTS?!#

Around them, the soldiers exchanged some glances...then died laughing.

#...That's a little insulting,# Sean observed mildly.

#They just captured a delusional thief who thinks he's the missing heir of Apocalypse.  What did you EXPECT?#

#Well, I guess a standing ovation was too much to ask for, but I'm not really used to people *laughing* at me.#

"I will give you marks for creativity, thief, but not for intelligence," the commander observed in an amused voice.  "For that, I'll make sure your execution is a creative one as well."

Sean opened his mouth again, but he was doubly interrupted before he could say anything.  Once mentally by his twin's sigh of #Do you really need to get us in any MORE trouble?#, and once out loud by a booming voice that proclaimed, "What is going on here?  I thought you ran an orderly camp, Zain."

The mass of soldiers parted respectfully in front of a hulking figure that strode confidently through the ranks.  The commander -- Zain -- smiled in anticipation.  "Now you find the hazards of lying to the General, thief.  Try your story to him."  In a louder voice, he announced, "My lord, I have captured two young thieves.  One is delusional."

"I am not delusional!  Do you require a *demonstration*?"  Sean raised his chin arrogantly and turned towards the approaching general.  "I am--" 

~_In *serious* trouble_...~

#Sean?  Tell me that's not Ch'vayre...#

#That's Ch'vayre,# Sean confirmed morosely, watching the huge former Prelate come closer.  Well, he wanted to prove his identity, didn't he?  Who better than the man who had practically (for lack of a better word) raised him?

#Well...at least he should recognize you.#

#He doesn't LIKE me.#

#I'm trying to look on the bright side here!#

#On the bright side, he never ACTUALLY tried to kill me.#

#...See, now you're doing better.#

#That was mostly because Apocalypse wouldn't let him,# Sean sighed, then turned the arrogance up another few notches.  How ELSE would Ch'vayre recognize him?  "Greetings, my lord Ch'vayre.  It's been a long time.  You really should work on the quality of your commanders, you know.  This one has NO imagination."

"I would have no acquaintance with a petty thief such as you," Ch'vayre rumbled, pacing over to stand in front of them.

Sean raised one eyebrow and allowed his eye to flare brightly.

"You were saying?" he asked coolly when Ch'vayre's eyes widened in a satisfying display of surprise.

The former prelate looked past Sean to examine Nate with narrowed eyes, then back.  "A good disguise."

Sean swallowed.  His eye flared again, and a soldier behind Ch'vayre suddenly let out a hideous scream as his clothing burst into flame.  Sean let him scream for a moment, then damped the flames.  "As I said, it's been a long time.  And we have few enough troops as it is."

Nate gave his brother a very long look.  #...Did you have to do that?#

#He had to believe me,# Sean replied simply.  #And it would have been more convincing if I'd killed him.#

#...I'm glad you didn't.#

Ch'vayre stared at him for another long moment, then inclined his head and said, "Greetings, Lord Stryfe."

Zain's eyes widened in an almost comical display of horror, then he hurriedly dropped to one knee behind his general.  "Welcome back, your highness."

All around them, soldiers were bowing or kneeling.  Sean kept his head high as Nate looked around in growing horror.  #What now?# Nate asked softly.

#Now?#  Sean looked coolly around the soldiers, then met Ch'vayre's eyes again.  #Now we start to make a difference.#

*****


	2. Chapter Two

Maps.

Maps, more maps, and even more flonqing maps.

Maps of troop movements.  Maps of terrains.  Maps of trade routes.  Maps of towns.  Maps of battle sites.  Maps of armies.  There were maps for every conceivable situation, drawn from at least three different viewpoints and in varying levels of detail.

If one wished to truly debilitate a mighty army without firing a single shot, the Lord General thought bitterly, just destroy its maps.  The commanders wouldn't have the first idea what to do.

He absently toyed with a dagger, imagining with great delight taking it and slashing into one of the flonqing maps and--

            "It does not seem, Lord Stryfe, that you are giving our plans your whole attention."

            Lord Stryfe, the Chaos-Bringer, High Commander of the Revenant Forces, raised his head from a contemplation of the maps spread out before him and stared impassively at the unfortunate speaker.  An uncomfortable silence grew as Stryfe simply stood there while Commander Halpern looked as if he was trying to spontaneously develop the ability to teleport.  When the silence grew thick, Halpern finally blurted out, "Meaning no disrespect, of course, my lord."

            Stryfe arched an eyebrow.  "Indeed," he said coolly, holding Halpern's gaze for a moment longer before looking back at the maps.  Halpern's shoulders sagged in relief...then he gave a shriek of agony and collapsed on the floor, writhing and screaming.

            "I think, gentlemen, we would be better served in attacking from the east," Stryfe continued as if nothing had happened, indicating the maps with a thin wooden pointer.

            The other commanders in the tent cast one last look at their unlucky comrade, then stepped over his twitching body as if it wasn't there and continued planning the coming battle.  Blank-faced servants stepped forward discreetly to carry Halpern back to his own tent.  He'd recover within a few days and return to command his Lord's troops.  Everyone knew Stryfe would not waste his resources so lightly.  But memory of the agonizing pain would not fade so quickly, and Halpern would be slow to speak out against the High Commander in the future.

            The Chaos-Bringer had learned self-control.  But there were a few who'd served in Apocalypse's old forces that spoke almost wistfully of the days when you could just be set on fire and be done with it.

*****

            Stryfe strode quickly through the camp, nodding his head slightly in acknowledgment of soldiers' hails and ignoring the calls for favor.  Another planning session, another battle.  Soon he'd be back in that flonqing tent to plan the *next* battle, then the next.  Dealing with yet another idiot who thought he could lead better than the young prince of a fallen empire.  Stryfe thought his entire life this past year could be pared down to one endless battle, thousands of bedamned maps, and one never-ending scream of agony...

            Sometimes he longed desperately for those carefree days where his biggest concern was scrounging for food, his only challenge the light-hearted competition with his brother for who could gather the most.  Or for those halcyon days with Redd and Slym, where all the horror of his past and uncertainty of the future didn't matter as long as they were with him...

            He was shaken out of his contemplation by a hand on his arm.  "My lord, your brother has returned and—"  The eager young page quailed under the fierce glare and jerked back his hand as if he'd been burned.  He stared down at the dirt and muttered, "He's in your tent, Lord."

            Stryfe ignored him.  Where did they *get* these servants from, anyway?  He pushed past the boy and slipped through the entrance flap of his personal tent.  The inside was shadowed, but Stryfe felt an enormous weight slipping off his shoulders with his first step inside.  Out there, in the camp or on the battlefield, he had to be Lord Stryfe, ruthless commander.  In here, he could just be Sean Dayspring.  

            ...Sometimes he *really* missed Sean Dayspring.

            "Oath, I didn't think you were going to make it back this season," he said into the gloom, tossing the scarlet cape that marked his rank negligently to the side.  He lit a handful of lamps with a thought and crossed the open space to a basin in the corner, splashing water on his face.

            There was a light chuckle, then Stryfe's cape halted in mid-flight and redirected itself to hang neatly on the appropriate peg.  Long legs unfolded from the cot in the rear, raising a handsome young face into the light cast by the lamps.  A face that, except for a few scars, was identical to the Chaos-Bringer's.

            "I got lucky," Nathan Dayspring admitted with a shrug.  A mischievous smile lit his features and he added, "General Varlo had heard so much about you that I barely had to mention I represented you and he was *begging* me to take command."  He flexed the metallic fingers of his left hand with a rueful grimace.  "They've also apparently heard about Lord Stryfe's freakish cyborg brother.  I think I enhance your reputation."

            Stryfe snorted.  "You exaggerate as always, brother.  But it's good to have you back."  He smiled faintly, then shook his head.  "I wish I dared *keep* you here more often, but I don't trust any of those sycophants and opportunists any farther than I can throw them!  If I sent *them* out to recruit allies, I'd wind up with a new army to fight instead."

            "What're brothers for?" Nate replied lightly.  He reached into a pocket and pulled out a disk, tossing it at his twin.  "Varlo's fealty agreement."

            Stryfe waved a hand and directed the disk to a table.  "No business now, Nate."  He grinned and walked over to grab his brother in a back-pounding hug.  "I *have* missed you."

"I missed you back," Nathan replied, hugging him back tightly.  He let go and slapped Stryfe's shoulder with another grin.  "Oath, you look fancier every time I see you, Lord General."

Stryfe shrugged off the hand and turned away.  He sat down at the cot and started prying his boots off wearily.  "Don't call me that."

"Sorry."  Nate snagged the tent's only chair and reversed it, sitting down and resting his arms on the back.  "Rough day, Sean?"

Stryfe smiled faintly.  "You're the only one who calls me that anymore.  And no, not any worse than usual.  Just...every day it's something else.  I've got the troops pretty well convinced that they'll do as well following me as anyone else, but half the commanders still aren't sure about following a general who's barely past the age of majority."

"They would've followed you at twelve when Apocalypse died if you'd been there then," Nate pointed out contemptuously.  "You're older now, so I don't see what the problem is.  And you know flonqing well you're a *better* commander than anyone else out there, or you wouldn't be here!  Prince or not, they wouldn't keep following you if you didn't keep winning."

Stryfe sighed and tossed his boots aside.  "Sometimes I wonder if they will anyway.  It's taking more and more to keep them in line..."

Nate frowned.  "What do you mean?"

"It was Halpern this time, but *someone* tries to challenge me before every flonqing battle!  How long before..."  His voice trailed off and he shook his head.  "I have *enough* trouble trying to band the scattered generals together without having my OWN men turn against me!"

"You'll do it, Sean.  I *know* you will."  He grinned.  "None of *these* generals were trained by *Slym Dayspring*, after all."

Stryfe chuckled.  "True, but I don't think any of them recognize that for the severe lack it is."

"Still."  Nate frowned.  "You're all right?  You weren't hurt at all?"

"A big brother to the last," Stryfe laughed, then winked.  "Calm your protective instincts.  I'm fine.  It wasn't a physical attack."

"Oh.  What *did* happen, then?"

Stryfe waved his hand.  "Nothing much.  Halpern tried to challenge me, I dealt with it."

"No blow-by-blow account?" Nate asked with a grin.  "Come on, I've been off on boring 'diplomatic' missions lately.  Share!"

Stryfe leaned back on his elbows and laughed.  "All right, all right."  He cast his memory back to the short dealing with Halpern and pushed it along the link with his twin.  "It wasn't much.  Halpern's a decent commander, but not very strong on his own."

Nate blinked and re-examined the memory several times, chewing on his lower lip.  "Um...maybe you didn't start this early enough.  It looks like all he did was say you weren't paying attention."

"Exactly."

"...That was a *challenge*?"

Stryfe straightened, his jaw set.  "He was challenging me.  I couldn't just *let* him!"

Nate frowned and scratched his arm.  "You know more about army types than I do," he admitted uncomfortably.  "But did you have to--"

"YES.  I can't afford to make any exceptions.  My position is too tenuous!"

"Okay, okay.  You're the expert."  Nate looked away for a heartbeat, then abruptly hopped out of the chair.  "Look, I came straight here when I got in, so I'm starved.  Think we could dig up some food, little brother?"

Stryfe chuckled again and stood up, summoning his cape to him.  "I think we can manage that."

*****

In a camp at war, there were always people walking around.  Soldiers relaxing off-duty or on their way *to* duty.  Messengers darting across the camp.  Commanders surveying their troops.  An array of camp followers selling their wares or just seeking favor.  But even in all that commotion, two young men attracted everyone's attention just by strolling across the camp.

They would have been a sight to attract attention anywhere -- both tall, young, and handsome, with brightly-glowing left eyes and identical features.  But the one on the left wore the red cape of the High Commander, and the one on the right half-hid a metallic arm behind his travel-stained purple cloak, so they attracted more attention than most.

Nate was munching on the remains of a roll as they walked, Stryfe using the excuse of conducting an impromptu troop review to spend a bit more private time with his brother.  "Do you *ever* stop eating?" he asked in amusement.

Nate took another bite and grinned.  "Not as long as there's food."  He gestured around him with the crust.  "Oath, this place gets more impressive every time I come back.  You'll be a flonqing *city* soon."

"With all the problems that come with it.  When I used to dream about being in command when I was little, my imagination didn't carry far enough to include establishing supply lines and sanitation systems!"

"Ugh.  I think I prefer being the traveling trouble-shooter."  Nate swallowed the last of the roll and brushed a few crumbs off his cloak.  "So what's this battle you were planning when I came in?  And will I actually be around long enough to be there?"

"Probably.  You *did* finish with Varlo quicker than we thought, and the next person I was going to send you to is the same one we're marching against."

"Oath.  Granthe?  I thought negotiations were going well with him!"  Nate frowned worriedly.  "He's got the biggest consolidated army out there except for yours.  And his commanders are good."

"I'm better."

"I don't doubt that, little brother, but are you sure you're ready to take him on?  It'll be a nasty battle on all sides.  Maybe we should give negotiations another try.  I could--"

"The last messenger I sent to Granthe was returned in pieces.  We still don't have all of him."  Stryfe stopped in his tracks and turned to fix Nate with a fierce stare, his left eye glowing with burning intensity.  "I'm not about to send you into that kind of situation."  His eyes narrowed.  "We fight."

Nate nodded determinedly and clasped his brother's arm.  "Then I'll be right beside you.  As it should be."

Stryfe covered Nate's hand with his and smiled fiercely.  "Good.  It's been too long."

Any further discussion of the coming battle was interrupted by a voice calling out, "My lord!"  The brothers turned and looked to see one of Stryfe's advisors walking briskly across the camp towards them.  Vande had been a courtier under Apocalypse and well-acquainted with the young prince then.  He had a handsome face he felt was wasted out here with the lack of ladies, and a sense of his own importance Stryfe felt was wasted in the realms of reality.

Stryfe waited silently for the man to finish making his way towards them, crossing his arms and cultivating a faintly bored expression.  Nate just folded his hands and tried to look neutral.  "My lord," Vande repeated when he came closer, with a short bow for Stryfe and an even shorter nod towards Nate.  "Lord Dayspring."

Nate nodded back.  No one but Stryfe would be able to detect the hint of mocking in the movement.  Stryfe quelled a smile and lifted an eyebrow imperiously.  "I take it from the way you were bellowing across the camp that you wished to speak with me?"

"Yes, my lord.  I didn't mean to interrupt your...review of the troops."  Vande eyed Nate sideways, clearly aware of Stryfe's true purpose, then looked back at his commander.  "But Commander Zain has just arrived with his troops.  He was the last one we were waiting for.  We'll be ready to march on Granthe in the morning."

A predatory glint appeared in Stryfe's eyes.  He rubbed his hands together and purred, "Excellent."

Nate looked at him for a moment, then cast his eyes back down.  "Well," he said briskly after a moment, "I've been traveling all day.  I think I'll go get cleaned up while you two talk."

Stryfe nodded.  "We'll talk later."

Nate smiled quickly.  "Of course."  He nodded at Vande again and walked off.

The former courtier watched him go with shuttered eyes.  "Lord Dayspring returns early.  Will he be joining us tomorrow?"

"Yes.  He'll be useful."

"General Varlo is with us, then?"

"Of course.  When has Lord Dayspring ever failed?"

Vande smiled benignly.  "Of course.  You are very fortunate to have such a capable brother, my lord.  And trustworthy.  Many men in your position would not feel so comfortable when the man they've sent to negotiate with one enemy returns conveniently in time to join battle with another."

"It *is* convenient.  His powers will be very useful against Granthe's troops, and I wasn't looking forward to fighting with Varlo's forces still at our backs."

"A relief to be certain.  We are fortunate indeed that no one was ever able to consolidate Granthe and Varlo's forces against us.  Even *our* army might have fallen then..."  Vande looked around, then lowered his voice.  "Perhaps we should send someone to Varlo's camp," he urged.  "Just to make sure it is as we have been told."

Stryfe straightened, his eye flashing angrily.  "You forget yourself," he hissed.  

"I am only trying to advise you, my lord."

Stryfe's eyes narrowed.  "Know this, Vande -- there are only two people in this world I trust completely.  Myself and Lord Dayspring.  Notice you are not on that list."  Stryfe's voice was deadly.  "If you speak against him, you speak against me."

"I meant no disrespect, my lord!" Vande replied, spreading his hands in front of him.  "I only advise the best way I know how.  You, of course, must make the final decisions.  You are fortunate indeed to have a brother deserving such loyalty."

"Indeed."  Stryfe's tone was final.  He moved to go, then turned his head back to look at his advisor.  "Incidentally, the next time you have important information for me, use a telepath.  That's why we have them.  Don't waste both our time scurrying around the camp like a dog."

Vande bowed slightly.  "Of course, my lord."

Stryfe nodded curtly, turned, and swept away, his red cape fluttering behind him.

*****


	3. Chapter Three

            Some people see life in colors – peaceful times swathed in blue, happiness in yellow or green, conflict in red.  Others measure things by sound – joyful pealing of bells, the harsh crash of cymbals, the mournful wailing of a flute.  Nathan Dayspring had always seen things in terms of light.  His memories of Redd and Slym were always cast in a warm golden glow.  Battles were invariably shot through with red light from Slym's optic blasts.  The best times with his twin were cast in the flickering orange light of a campfire.

            When he looked back at this day, it would always be with the harsh yellow glare of the sun beating down on the battlefield, shot through with brighter flashes of the energy weapons being fired at friend and foe alike.

            Nate's first major battle had come at the age of nine, when he'd snuck along with Redd, Slym, and the Clan Rebellion to blow up one of Apocalypse's research facilities.  Since then, he'd fought in any number of battles, from the grandest of all – destroying the High Lord Apocalypse at the age of thirteen – to the meanest struggle to survive when on the run.  Most of those fights had come through fighting with his brother's army to unify all the scattered generals trying to carve their own empire after Apocalypse's fall.  But Nate still had a sense, as he struck yet another soldier down, that somehow _this_ battle was something unusual.

            As the battle wore on, Nate fell into a sort of trance, senses wildly alert for the slightest movement that could mean danger, yet at the same time trapped in a sort of tunnel vision.  There was nothing but him and the next soldier to challenge him.  No past, no future, just battle.  Spin to avoid an enemy weapon.  Come up firing.  Ignore the start of surprise in the dying man's eyes.  Again.  And again.  When too many rush you at once, lash out with t-k until you feel the bones start to pop and snap under the pressure.  Don't get distracted by screams, whether from the enemy or your own men.  Don't let your mental shields slip and be overwhelmed by the dying.  Stay alive.  Stay sane.

            As Nate thrust a blade through someone's throat and watched eyes glaze over in death, he wondered mirthlessly how likely the latter was for anyone here.

            But the battle was going well.  Even though Nate had gotten separated from his twin early on, leading a charge into a knot of troops protecting one of Granthe's major commanders, Stryfe's presence still sang in his mind with fierce elation of a coming victory.  Nate spared a quick thought to the possible victory, but didn't dare take his attention off the deadly dance he was engaged in.  An injury received during "mop up" would kill him just as dead as one taken in the heat of battle.

            Shouts and cheers finally penetrated Nate's consciousness just as an impersonal voice in his head reported, #Stand down and prepare to receive surrenders.#

            Nate mentally pegged the voice as Mihye, a colorless older woman without any skills to speak of who would have been a quick casualty in the civil wars, if not for her moderate gift of telepathy, which allowed her to reach any unshielded mind within several miles' radius.  Not very useful in combat, but she did quite well in the ranks of low- and mid-level telepaths Stryfe's army found invaluable in communications.

            Nate allowed himself to droop for a moment in relief and exhaustion, then snapped to attention and started gathering up the nearby soldiers.  Although he had no official title, as Lord Stryfe's brother he could and did command when the time called for it.  The battle may be over, but there was still much to be done – the injured to see to, prisoners to deal with, dead to bury.  With a quiet sigh, Nathan turned to his duty.

*****

            "A good battle, young Dayspring," a deep voice rumbled over Nate's shoulder.  Purposely not showing any surprise, he turned and lifted his gaze to the speaker.

            "I'm not sure if any battle can be called 'good', Ch'vayre, but it was successful."

            "Isn't the best indication of a good battle that it was a successful one?"

            Nate smiled slightly.  "Perhaps."  He regarded the imposing bulk of the former Prelate and wondered what had caused the other man to seek him out.  After spending his childhood thinking of Ch'vayre as one of the greatest monsters in the High Lord's Court (and two years of Sean's less-than-flattering stories), Nate was even more uncomfortable with him than Stryfe was.  Of course, Stryfe had twelve years of princely arrogance to fall back on, while Nate just had a childhood of hiding from people like Ch'vayre to make him leery.

            But to his surprise, the ex-rebel and former noble worked well enough together when circumstances required.  Ch'vayre refused to call any peasant, even the Prince's brother, "lord".  Nate refused to defer to any man who'd come seeking his unit's help to destroy Apocalypse as his superior officer.  Both respected each other's opinions enough to take suggestions.  Neither treated the other as more than grudgingly-tolerated colleagues.  Within those limitations, they got along very well.

            "General Granthe has officially surrendered," Ch'vayre observed as he looked over the line of prisoners Nate's group had brought in.  "I believe Lord Stryfe plans on offering him a command, if he will swear fealty."

            "Good.  Granthe's a decent man, and a good commander.  This wasn't an easy win."

            Ch'vayre laughed, making the hair on Nate's neck stand on end.  "Indeed not.  You were far from the main battle, I believe.  If not for their losses in the canyon, I doubt they would have surrendered so quickly."

            Nate knew better by now than to admit to ignorance in front of officers in the army, even ones he had a cordial relationship with.  Especially not when it was so specifically mentioned.  So she simply made a non-commercial reply and turned the conversation elsewhere.  But as soon as he'd finished discharging his prisoners to the appropriate officer, he excused himself and began a circuitous route across the battlefield.  There was only one canyon Ch'vayre could have been referring to, though Nate recalled they had planned to try to steer the battle *away* from there.  It would be a dangerous place to get caught in during a firefight.  Still, plans were always fluid, and Stryfe had apparently found a way to make the terrain work for him.

            Nate was smiling and planning how to tease Sean before congratulating him on yet another victory when he reached the crest of the hill looking over the small canyon – and felt his heart stutter at the sight spread out in front of him.

            The clean-up detail had clearly not made it this far yet, making sure the wounded made it to the healers and the dead and dying were disposed of, so the stench emanating from the canyon was nearly overpowering.  Bodies were spread thickly across the canyon floor, without room to even step between them in most places.  Blood was everywhere Nate's horrified eyes looked, congealing in great pools beneath the piles of bodies, splattered across the canyon walls.  Everywhere he looked, every body he saw – all dead.  Not a single survivor.  Nate was barely able to concentrate on the scene long enough to spot the dark green bandoliers decorating the corpses, the distinctive identifier worn by Granthe's troops.

            Not theirs, Nate told himself firmly as he whirled away from the nauseating sight, fighting down the bile.  Not theirs, and that was something.  With this kind of loss of life, it was no wonder Granthe surrendered.  Nate tried to be grateful that it wasn't *their* troops lying there...but he couldn't get those blank, staring eyes and empty hands grasping at the sky out of his mind...

*****

            When Stryfe finally returned to his tent, the lanterns had been burning for hours and the camp sang with soldiers celebrating one more victory over death.  The prince entered the familiar tent, surprised to find it already lit and occupied.  "So this is where you disappeared to.  Vande swore you were off on a, ah, private celebration somewhere," he said with an arch grin.

            "So I am.  Your tent's more comfortable than mine.  And better stocked."  Nate tossed a bottle at his brother.  Stryfe caught it, shook it to find it full, and grinned appreciatively.  "Congratulations, little brother.  Another victory."

            "It seems endless sometimes, doesn't it?" Stryfe asked as he threw himself down on the ground, softened with plush rugs taken as tributes from some local nobles.  The richly-decorated tent was a far cry from the dirty hovel where young brothers first became friends, but the warmth of feeling was there just the same.

            Nate caught the bottle as Stryfe tossed it back at him and swallowed a mouthful.  "That it does.  What's the word on Granthe?"

            Stryfe made a face and reclaimed the bottle for another swig.  "He's being executed tomorrow.  I scanned him; no point in swearing fealty, he'd just ignore it.  I could slave-link him, but he's more valuable as an example.  His lieutenant's already sworn allegiance.  We should get most of his other commanders as well."

            Nate sighed and leaned his head back to stare at the cloth ceiling.  "I wish he'd flonqing well listened to reason *before* this!"

            "So do I," Stryfe said quietly, taking another long sip before tossing the bottle back at Nate.

            For a long time, the brothers shared their drinks in silence, the only noise in the tent the faint sounds of celebration that penetrated the think walls.  Finally Stryfe propped himself up and began prying off his boots and armor, tossing everything in the vague direction of the armor stand in the corner.  Nate just lounged on Stryfe's cot, happily claiming sole ownership of the bottle for now.  He didn't say anything until Stryfe turned on his side to yank his cape out from under him and sent it sailing towards the wall.  

            Nate sat straight up, swore, and summoned the cape to him with t-k to examine it.  He poked incredulously at the gaping hole with black, scorched edges.  "Oath, Sean!"

            "I blocked it," Stryfe protested defensively, frowning at the hole.  "I didn't realize it was that big.  I liked that cape."

            "I like *you* intact more than the cape!  That was a little *too* close."

            "Some sharpshooter in that group we trapped in the canyon," Stryfe dismissed with a wave.  His face brightened.  "Oath, wasn't that a sight to see?  I wish you'd been there!"

            "What *did* happen there?  I never heard.  I just saw – the bodies."  Nate rubbed his hand against his leg in revulsion.

            "Zain's troops trapped them there.  He's getting a promotion tomorrow."  Stryfe's voice rang with excitement.  "I didn't think we'd manage to trap so many at once, even when we saw the opportunity.  *Half* that many would have been enough to give Granthe pause."

Nate looked away, his face troubled.  "I never liked Zain," he mumbled, then looked back at his twin.  "They wouldn't surrender even after they were trapped?"  He shuddered.  "The ones I came across seemed...a lot more reasonable than that."

"Oh, they probably would have."

Nate's head shot up.  He fixed Stryfe with an incredulous stare and said, "*What*?"

"They probably would have, but we Granthe needed to know we were serious."

"Sean, they were trapped and surrounded!  Zain didn't even give them a *chance* to surrender?  And you're PROMOTING him for it?!"

"I'm promoting him for *capturing* an entire regiment of Granthe's best troops and giving us the opening we needed to force the surrender," Stryfe replied tightly.

"And to give you that opening he *slaughtered* all those men!  Didn't you SEE it?  It was horrible!"

"It was necessary!" Stryfe snapped.

"*Necessary*?!  Zain should be--"

"Zain didn't order it.  I did.  If you're going to be flinging accusations around, Nathan, then do it properly."

Nate recoiled slightly in utter shock, staring at his brother with eyes wide and mouth hanging open.  It was a long moment before he could manage to speak, in a harsh whisper.  "*You* did that?  Without even giving them a *chance*?"

"I saw the opportunity, so I ordered the troops to open fire," Stryfe said implacably, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  "It gave us the opportunity we needed to force Granthe's surrender, or we might *still* be out there.  Oath, do you think I *liked* doing that?  But I can't afford your idealism, Nate!"

"It's not being idealistic.  It's being *human*!" Nate snapped.  "Think about what Redd and Slym would say if they'd seen you today!"

"Where do you think I got the idea from?" Stryfe hissed in a low voice, his left eye flaring brightly.  "You stayed at home, Nathan, remember?  You didn't even know what Slym *was*.  In the battle at Leilar, he trapped MY soldiers in a gorge and opened fire.  He killed more people in that one battle than I did in TEN!  He was *STRONG* and he did what he needed to!"

"Slym wasn't like that," Nate insisted, his voice shaking.

"You didn't know him like I did.  If he'd been commanding today, he would have done the same thing!"

Nate stared at his brother for a long moment, not trusting his voice.  Finally he managed, "Slym wouldn't have been proud of it," then stalked past Stryfe and out of the tent.  He paused once at the doorway, looked back, then swept out without another word.

            Stryfe was left standing in the middle of his empty tent, clutching a ruined cape, wondering why victory tasted so much like ashes.

*****


	4. Chapter Four

"Is he gone?"

"Yes, my lord.  He left a few moments ago, with Tenlar's squadron."

Stryfe turned a small dagger over in his hands, pausing a moment to admire the gleam.  He'd spent half the morning polishing it while Nate packed up his belongings again.  Ostensibly, Lord Dayspring was being sent out for a review of Stryfe's allies in the wake of the important victory yesterday.  In truth...

His brother had left because he thought Stryfe was a butcher.

Stryfe reached out and slammed the dagger point-first into a stack of papers on his desk.  The casualty reports from yesterday's battle.  Would Nate look at them and see how their casualties were twenty percent below expected, with a ridiculously low number of deaths as compared to their previous campaigns against a force that large and skilled?  No, he would just see a canyon full of dead bodies.  

As if he'd *wanted* to kill so many of Granthe's troops, without even giving them a chance to surrender.  It was a *waste*.  He could have used soldiers so skilled.  But his own men came FIRST, flonq it!  Was Nate gone from this camp so often that its occupants meant nothing to him?

Stryfe forced himself to keep his face completely composed as he looked up coolly at the orderly.  Nate's departure must seem completely routine, or jackals would begin sniffing around, hoping to profit somehow from a rift between the brothers.  And it *wasn't* a rift!  Just a misunderstanding.  Once Nate cooled off and Stryfe had more time, they'd make up and things would be back to normal...

"Thank you, Hudsen.  You may go.  Inform Lord Ch'vayre I wish to see him."

Hudsen made the appropriate bow and gathered up his papers to leave, but hesitated a few steps from the desk.  Stryfe looked over and raised an eyebrow at the servant's internal battle.  Hardly surprising.  Stryfe was well-known for rewarding initiative, but punishing impertinence severely.  It was often difficult to distinguish between the two.  

In fact, Stryfe had managed to go through a number of orderlies in the first few months of his command, though most were only mentally flayed and reassigned elsewhere once the ability to speak had returned.  The one who'd tried to kill him had been killed and set out as a deterrent against other would-be assassins, of course, and the woman who'd decided his bed would make a fine place to rule from was...dealt with appropriately.

But Hudsen had come to him several months ago and managed to quietly and efficiently bring Stryfe's affairs back into order.  The slight, sloop-shouldered man would never have survived long on a battlefield, but here he acquired an implacability sufficient to stop even the highest-ranked general at the door when his Lord did not wish to be disturbed.  Stryfe had grown grudgingly fond of the man and was therefore willing to grant him some leeway.

Not that Stryfe would tell HIM that.

"A problem?" Stryfe suggested, letting the other man know that his time was almost up.

"I'm not certain, my lord.  I...wasn't sure if you were aware of the...difficulties between Commanders Zain and Sydley."

"My officers know to work out their personal problems on their own time."

"It's not a personal problem, Lord.  Commander Sydley was starting to process her new recruits, but Commander Zain claimed half of them for his own regiment."

Stryfe blinked.  He knew Sydley had acquired a significant number of new recruits yesterday, under Stryfe's policy of assigning any surrendered troops who switched sides (after a thorough telepathic evaluation, of course) to the commander who'd originally captured them.  Zain hadn't been anywhere near Sidley's troops, and there was NO excuse for claiming another commander's recruits.  But Zain was no fool.  "On what basis?"

Hudsen looked desperately uncomfortable.  "As compensation for the soldiers *his* men captured, but were, ah, killed in the canyon."

"Oath.  Thank you for bringing this to my attention."  He gave a quick, sharp nod and stood.  "I'll take care of it."

*****

Even if he hadn't been a telepath, Stryfe didn't need to ask where the disturbance was located.  All he really had to do was wander the camp until he heard the shrill shouting from the southern borders, where Sidley's troops were biouviaked.  Stryfe joined the crowd of soldiers milling around, not drawing a second look as everyone avidly watched the spectacle of the two commanders screaming at each other.

Stryfe folded his arms and watched for a moment, fascinated despite himself.  Sydley's face had turned a fascinating shade of fuchsia and he seriously doubted the things she was suggesting were anatomically possible, even with the aid of telekinesis.  Zain was taking it all without a word, arms crossed, superior expression pasted on his face.  He waited until Sydley paused for a breath, then put in smoothly, "It's only fair.  I captured the same number of troops you did; there's no reason I shouldn't get an equal number of new recruits.  Have you forgotten I was *personally* with Lord Stryfe during the battle?"

"If the General was going to assign MY recruits to you," Sydley shot back, "I would have been given orders."

"That's what I'm here to do.  The Lord General is a very busy man.  He can't be expected to waste his time with mundane orders to every little commander."

Stryfe straightened and stepped forward, drawing a hard look from one soldier he pushed aside.  The soldier took in the glowing eye, then quickly stepped back and began hissing to his comrade, laying in bets.  Stryfe permitted a cool smile and pitched his voice to carry across all the gawkers as he called out, "I'm not so busy as that, Commander.  I always like to personally reward exceptional behavior, you know."

Both commanders snapped to painful attention as their superior approached.  "My lord," Zain murmured with a slight bow.  

Sydley's eyes flashed fire, but she inclined her head.  "General."  

Stryfe regarded his officers with gray eyes hard as flint while the watching soldiers quickly took bets and whispered comments between themselves.  Zain was a product of Apocalypse's old regime, where all officers were noble, male, and mutant.  He'd never dealt well with the Amazonian Sydley, who stood nearly eye-to-eye with Stryfe.  She had started out as a young recruit and risen through the ranks to officer.  Stryfe didn't mind them carrying out their little feud in private, but when it spread to in front of the troops...

"I understand there is some disagreement regarding the new recruits from yesterday?" he asked conversationally.

"Very minor, my lord," Zain replied smoothly.  "I was simply explaining to Commander Sydley the proper distribution of the recruits, taking into account all factors from yesterday."

"Very reasonable of you."

Zain smiled unctuously.  "Thank you, my lord."

"The proper distribution of recruits is a very simple matter," Stryfe continued, his voice like silk-wrapped steel.  "My policy is quite clear on the matter.  The commander who takes the surrenders gets the recruits."

Sydley rocked back on her heels, a smirk painted on her face.  Zain's eyes flashed.  He bared his teeth in a smile.  "I understand the policy, my lord, and fully support it.  But I know that such a fine general would always wish to take circumstances into account.  I captured as many troops yesterday as Commander Sydley, who failed to survive through no fault of my own, so--"

"No, the fault was mine," Stryfe interrupted pleasantly.  

Zain opened his mouth, closed it, and turned a sickly shade of green.  "Ah..."

"I *am* the one who ordered the deaths of your captives.  Perhaps you have a problem with my decision?"

"Of course not, my lord."  Zain's voice was nearly a squeak.

"Good.  The recruits stay with Commander Sydley."  

"Of course, my lord.  I would never dream of going against your wishes."

"Of course not."  

Stryfe smiled pleasantly.  Then his eye flared and Zain collapsed to the ground with a scream of pain.  

Stryfe glanced around and saw money discreetly changing hands.  Ah well, it was good to give the common troops something to talk about.  He looked over at Sydley, who was doing a commendable job of hiding her pleasure in her colleague's downfall.  She straightened and snapped him a salute when she noticed his gaze on her.  "Thank you, sir."

"I'm sure you'll do well by your new troops, Commander."  He lowered his voice to address just her, though he kept up the pleasant smile.  "In the future, if you have a disagreement with a fellow officer, I expect you to take care of it *without* resorting to screaming in front of the troops."

She nodded intently, snapping another salute.  "Yes, sir."

Stryfe returned the salute and walked away.  As he stepped over Zain's still-screaming body, he paused and added to the twitching man, "Incidentally, you're promoted for your actions in yesterday's battle.  Report to Lord Ch'vayre when you're recovered."

Nodding pleasantly to the troops, Stryfe returned to his command tent.

*****

Stryfe stopped just inside the entrance to his tent, finally allowing his shoulders to slump in weary exhaustion.  He'd been up since dawn, dealing with one emergency after another.  A regiment had taken heavy losses at Levin.  The resupply was late to their secondary camp.  An outbreak of disease.  A soldier stealing supplies.  And more flonqing *maps*!

His days were endless, and the nights just grew shorter and shorter as the demands on his time grew greater.  Stryfe didn't even bother lighting the lamps as he walked into the tent, leaving his clothing scattered where he dropped it and collapsing face-down on his cot.

After lying there for a long moment, Stryfe turned over and draped his arm over his face.  Oath.  When had his life become nothing but maps and endless meetings?  He'd always enjoyed spending time with the troops, dining with different divisions regularly to avoid appearances of favoritism.  Reading in the evenings.  Strategy games with—

Now...he barely had energy to drag himself back to his tent at the end of the day.  And he would be pulled out of his bed at dawn to begin again.  Of course, he *could* delegate more to his officers and advisors.  Lord Vande was constantly telling him that his overwork was unnecessary.  But that would mean allowing himself to be nothing more than a figurehead.  

While that life might offer more in the way of immediate physical pleasures, it would be empty.  He knew he'd grow bored of it in little to no time.  At any rate, it was dangerous to let people become too accustomed to making decisions without you, or soon they might come to think they didn't need you at all...

Stryfe shivered slightly, pushing back memories of orange light and endless pain.  He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, cursing flonqing perfect telepathic memories.  He bit off another oath as he realized he'd started to reach across his link to his brother without even realizing it.  That was the *last* thing he needed!  He had to wait to talk to Nate in person, not--

#Sean?#

#...I didn't mean to disturb you.  I'm sure you're busy.#

#So are you.  I was...just thinking about you.  How are things going there?#

#...Good.  You?#

#...Good.#  There was a long pause, then Nate said softly, #I miss you.#

Stryfe smiled into the dark.  #I miss you too, Nate.#

Stryfe closed his eyes and reveled for a moment in the feel of his brother's mind curled up against his.  When they'd fought, he'd had a horrible vision of Nate leaving, not just on another mission, and...never coming back, leaving his mind silent...  But he was here, and Stryfe could take a deep breath again for the first time in days.

#Nate...I didn't really intend to send anyone out for a few weeks yet.  There's a lot to do around here.  You...you could really be a help.#

Nate's mind went so still and quiet that Stryfe was horribly afraid he'd cut off contact entirely, but after a while he said quietly, #That...sounds like a good idea.  Oath, it's so boring out here I've been sleepwalking through it!#  A quick mental grin, so vivid Stryfe could nearly see his brother standing in front of him.  #I have to keep you out of trouble, right?#

#Or at least get into it with me,# Stryfe retorted with an answering grin.

#Sounds like a plan.  I--think we can leave here by mid-morning.#

#Good.  I--#  Stryfe cut the thought short and sat straight up as the tent flap was shoved open, admitting several figures.  The lamps flared to light with unholy glee as he glared at the intruders.  In frosty tones, he said, "This had *better* be important."

"I'm sorry, my lord," Hudsen apologized, but he was run over by Ch'vayre and Vande.

"Lord Stryfe, we just received word from the Aldain camp.  Their resupply team ran into trouble at a village," Vande reported.

#Emergency, Nate.  I'll see you soon.#  "Define 'trouble'."

"One survivor."

Stryfe stood up, his eye flaring brightly.  "What?" he hissed dangerously.

Ch'vayre took up the report.  "The team went out as usual to obtain supplies from a village.  They were ambushed by a group of malcontents hiding among the villagers.  One man managed to escape and report back to camp.  We need your orders for retaliation."

Fury snapped through Stryfe, surging through his veins and eliminating any traces of fatigue better than the army's best stimulant.  "I will NOT permit my soldiers to be *slaughtered* by flonqing *peasants* who smile pleasantly one day and shoot them down the next!  We make an example of these."

Ch'vayre and Vande both bowed.  "We'll send the orders to--"

"No," Stryfe interrupted, looking at them from beneath half-lidded eyes.  His voice was low and full of deadly promise.  "They attacked *my* men.  I will deal with this myself."

*****


	5. Chapter Five

It was completely silent.

Nate had used that phrase before, but even silence had never been so...well, silent.  There were always some sort of light, faint sounds, enough to reassure a man that he wasn't completely alone.  The faint sounds of breathing.  The light, shuffling noises of a body readjusting its seat or simply moving restlessly.  For a telepath, even with the best shields there was always a faintly whispering *presence* that told him other minds were out there and alive.

But as Nathan Dayspring stood in the center of the completely silent village, it was easy for him to believe he was the last man alive.

That was foolish, of course.  All he had to do was walk a few hundred feet to the outskirts of the village where he'd left his escort and he would be surrounded by moving, breathing, thinking, *alive* soldiers.  But he kept walking into the silent village instead of back towards the living squadron, drawn by some unwitting fascination he couldn't even explain.

When they'd first come up to the village and seen a man sprawled face-down on the road, they'd thought he was the victim of an attack or maybe just bad luck.  Then Nate noticed the entire town seemed far too quiet.  His first thought had been that the entire village had fallen victim to some sort of plague.  He'd left the rest of the squad behind and gone to investigate, trusting in the odd immunity the T-O seemed to give him to most *other* diseases to keep him safe.

If it was a plague, it was an extraordinarily fast-acting one.  The entire village seemed to have been struck down within mere heartbeats of each other.  No one had managed to panic and try running away or doing *anything* to stop their coming doom.  Instead, people had been struck down wherever they stood.

A mother collapsed beside a crib, her baby's blanket still clutched in her fingers while the infant slept on forever.  

A portly man in a nightshirt lay on his kitchen floor, his midnight snack scattered around beside him, rotting where it fell.

A young couple locked eternally in passionate embrace.

Men slumped over tables in the tavern, mugs of whatever the favored local brew was sitting at their elbows, a barmaid lying in a pool of spilled drinks at their feet.

Whatever this disease was, it had struck down old and young alike, the healthy and the infirm, the strong and the weak.  The town guard slumped over his post suffered the same fate as the frail old woman in her bed.

Nate knelt shakily beside two small bodies, sprawled at the base of a strong old tree that grew behind a particularly fine house.  Two young boys -- brothers, or just friends?  Nate could see them so clearly in his mind's eye, sneaking out of the house and meeting at the base of the tree, their childish voices hushed in excitement as they planned to scale its heights to the mysteries concealed in its branches instead of lying restlessly in bed....

Until they'd been struck down in a heartbeat, slack fingers no longer able to grip the rough trunk, falling without even a scream...

Nate let out a long breath and reached out to gently close the boys' staring eyes.  Then he shook himself and reminded himself to get down to business.  A plague like this would be a disaster if it spread to Stryfe's army -- if it spread *anywhere*!  So, find out the cause.  He settled himself comfortably on the ground and extended his senses to the small bodies beside him, refusing to let himself think of them as anything but evidence.

Years of battling the T-O had given him an innate understanding of the human body, as well as a familiarity with using his powers on that minute level that no telekinetic he'd ever met could match.  He had every confidence that he could at least determine what this plague *did*, if not how it attacked, and that would give their healers something to work with.

But as he probed, his confusion mounted.  The boys seemed completely healthy, other than a few broken bones that probably came from falling out of the tree.  He couldn't find any indication of disease or injury or *anything* that could possibly have killed them in an instant!

It was if their bodies had just been...shut...down.

Nate closed his eyes, more chilled now than at the thought of plague, and carefully extended his telepathy instead of telekinesis to gently probe at the two boys.  He wouldn't be able to recognize this if the Clan Rebellion hadn't run across something similar once when he was a child in Crestcoast.  

Redd had looked so ill as she examined the body when Turrin summoned her, but she'd called Nate over and made sure he could recognize the signs as well.  An enemy telepath had simply reached out and shut down the man's mind, the body immediately following.  

A telepath had done this.  One powerful enough to kill the entire village in the same instant.  Nate didn't think *he* could manage that feat, even if he'd wanted to.  Sean could probably do it, but he wasn't constantly splitting his attention with a deadly disease.  Nate couldn't think of another telepath in his experience with this kind of power.  Maybe Redd, but she was gone.

He reached out and smoothed one of the boy's hair gently in a futile protective gesture, then stood and strode purposely back to the edge of town.  The squadron was milling about uncomfortably, hands on their weapons.  They looked up at his approach, but found no comfort in the hard lines of Nate's face.

"My lord?" Tenlar asked, the captain's face eager as if hoping Nate had found an enemy they could fight.

"It's not a plague," Nate replied shortly.  "I want you to take half the squad ahead to the nearest camp."

"Aldain, sir."

Nate nodded.  "Fine.  Make sure the commander there knows what happened here.  The rest of you, stay here and give these people a proper burial, then rejoin the others."

"And you, my lord?"

"I'm returning to main camp," Nate replied, his eyes turned to steel.  "Lord Stryfe needs to be aware of this."

*****

"We have two squadrons here, one here, and three more here.  I recommend we move two regiments to the north face, then--"

A startled squeak issued from Halpern's mouth as the map he was pointing to suddenly burst into flames.  The strategist blinked at his Lord General, whose left eye was flaring brightly, the light accenting the deep lines in his face and the slightly ironic twist of his mouth.  

"I feel better now," Stryfe remarked conversationally.

Halpern looked torn between irritation at the loss of his map and deep relief that *he* was not the one on fire.  This time, of course, he was wise enough not to say anything against his commanding officer for the action.  "Ah...moving on..."

The report was interrupted again by the entrance flap being pushed open and a man stepping inside.  Stryfe half-stood and glared furiously at the intruder, shouting at his orderly.  "Hudsen!  What's the meaning of--*Nate*?"

"Hi," Nate replied wearily, his clothes and face slightly gray from road dust, exhaustion writ clearly in every line of his body.  

Stryfe stood up the rest of the way and made his way over to his brother, putting an arm out to support him.  "Oath, how'd you get here so quickly?  Hudsen, have food sent for Lord Dayspring.  Gentlemen, you'll excuse us?"  

Stryfe's advisors rose as well and bowed to their lord, mumbling greetings and farewells in the same breath.  Hudsen immediately disappeared to do Stryfe's bidding.  Stryfe guided Nate to a chair, relieving him of his travel-stained cloak.  "Oath, big brother, I'm glad to see you, but I wasn't in *that* much of a hurry.  Have you been traveling day and night?"

Nate grinned weakly.  "Not the whole time.  But I had news for you."

"If it was that urgent, why didn't you contact me telepathically?"

Nate sobered quickly.  "That's part of the problem.  I knew the chance of anyone breaking our shielding is practically nonexistent, but I didn't want to take the chance."  Nate took a deep breath.  "We have a rogue telepath on the loose.  A *flonqing* powerful one."

"Oath..."  Stryfe sat down across from his brother, his face serious as his quick mind ran through all the issues.  "What happened?"

Quietly, tersely, Nathan explained how he and his escort had run across the doomed village and what he'd surmised from his examination of the bodies.  Stryfe interrupted him a few sentences in.  "Wait, the village was near Aldain camp?  Was it called Kathe?"

Nate's shoulders slumped a little in relief.  "You've already heard.  I don't suppose that means you've caught the telepath?"

To Nate's surprise, his brother chuckled slightly.  "I suppose you could say that.  I'm sorry you wore yourself out just for that, but I am glad to see you."  He waved in the servants that appeared with food.

Nate frowned, but waited until they'd set up the food on the map table in front of him and withdrew.  He grabbed some cold meat and bread and devoured it in a few bites, then washed it down with a long drink.  Fortified, he returned his attention to Stryfe.  "So tell me what happened.  How'd you capture him.  He had to be pretty strong."

"I'm flattered," Stryfe said dryly.  The almost-smile vanished as Stryfe's face hardened again.  "A resupply force from Aldain went into Kathe.  They were attacked and slaughtered.  Only one of them managed to escape, badly injured, to report to his superiors."

"Oath!"  Nate swallowed another bite abruptly.  "What does that have to do with the telepath?"

Stryfe stood and paced across the tent, stopping to stare meditatively into the distance.  "This was the last straw," he reported dispassionately.  "I'm not going to allow a situation where my men are murdered by *villagers*.  We're not fighting a war with civilians as well as the generals."

"...I don't understand."

Stryfe turned back to face his brother.  "They had to be made an example of," he said resolutely.  "I wasn't going to send any more men in there to be trapped.  That's probably what they were waiting for.  So I took care of it."

"Sean..."  Nate's voice was a whisper.  "Tell me you weren't the one who did that."

"It was regrettable, but necessary."

Nate's mouth moved for a moment before he was able to put sound behind it.  "Sean, there were CHILDREN there!  Babies, old women!  They weren't responsible for the attack!"

"I had to make an example, or my men would be in danger every time they went to a village!"

"There are other ways of making an example!"

"This was the one I chose," Stryfe said implacably.

"You *chose* to slaughter innocents?"  Nate pushed his chair back and stalked over to stand in front of his brother.  "How could you be so heartless?"

"You don't understand, Nate.  You never do!  You're so idealistic sometimes, I wonder how you could *possibly* have been raised by a warrior like Slym!"

"I'm idealistic BECAUSE I was raised by Slym!  He was always *human* first, and a warrior second."

"I have a responsibility to the troops I lead to do it well.  I can't afford to be ruled by sentiment."

"It's not *sentiment* to not slaughter a village full of innocents with a thought!" Nate shouted.  "Didn't Redd teach you anything?  Or are you too much Apocalypse's son?"

Stryfe paled and snarled, "I am who I am, and I am a GOOD general!"

"You're a *butcher*!  First those men in the canyon, now Kathe -- who's next?"

"Whatever is necessary!"

"And who decides what's 'necessary'?"

"*I* do."

"Then my opinion doesn't even matter to you anymore?"

"Oath, Nate, don't be like this.  Of course--"

"Don't be like what?  I can't help the way I am.  Slym and Redd trained me to be *better* than *this*!"

"They trained me too," Stryfe hissed with deadly softness.

"Slym would be *ashamed* of you!" Nate snapped.  "I know I am."

If Nate had taken out his dagger and plunged it into his brother's chest, Stryfe could not have looked any more stunned and hurt than he did at that moment.  He blinked once, his eyes full of betrayal.  His chin shook for a moment, then firmed up as his eyes frosted over.

"If I shame you so much, I don't know why you want to be around me."

"I--"

"Get. Out."  Stryfe's voice was very low.  His eyes burned when he stared at his brother.

Nate sucked in a breath.  "If that's what you want.  But I'm not going to come groveling back to you.  You'd better be sure."

"Get out!"  This time Stryfe roared the order.  A lesser man would have flinched.  Nate didn't even blink.

"Fine."  He pulled his cloak back around him and matched his brother's steely gaze.  "Goodbye, *Stryfe*."

Then he turned and stalked out of the tent, and this time, he didn't look back.

*****


	6. Epilogue

"People of fabled Ebonshire and those of you who have journeyed 'cross Eurasia to this holiest of havens!  Today is a day unlike any other."

Though the speaker was old and, some whispered, touched more by madness than holy spirit, her voice today rang with conviction as she announced the long-awaited miracle to the crowd.

"For today, we have among us the last, *best* hope for our planet.  He who we anoint as "the Chosen One" -- Nathan Dayspring -- the Askani'Son!"

Cheers erupted from the crowd, the air filling with shouts and great drifts of flower petals thrown by the exuberant followers of Madame Sanctity, the last who remained to teach the wisdom of the fabled Mother Askani.  Only one out of the masses gathered did not appear to pay any attention to the Askani's words.  

By the rich robe he was draped in and his place of honor beside Sanctity herself, he was an important person indeed.  In fact, he was none other than the Askani'Son whose arrival brought so much hope to this settlement.  But Nathan Dayspring didn't pay any attention to the cheers or words of prophesy.  He stood a little apart from everything, eyes staring up into the twilight sky.

He watched as the first stars appeared, little twinkling lights that were the bridge from the dark of one sunset to the dawning hope of the new day.  He probed gently at one corner of his mind that lay so still and silent, with the fascination of one who could not stop probing a new wound.  Things had changed more than he ever dreamed possible.  But one thing was certain.

As Nate stared at the stars, he pledged softly, "This isn't over yet, little brother."

Far away, an identical face stared up at the same stars.  His fist clenched and he whispered, "This has only begun."

*********


End file.
